


For My Anons

by Hectopascal



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:11:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hectopascal/pseuds/Hectopascal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TWD prompt fills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for chapter: Voyeurism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rickyl fluffy fluff fluff smut+voyeurism by someone of the group? they could be jealous cause rickyl seems to be having such a good time.

Maggie wasn’t a virgin, okay. Not before Glenn (though her father never got wind of that incident, thank god) and certainly not after. Abstract concepts like prudishness and abstinence seemed…childish now. What was the point when they could be dead in a week? A day? An hour? Who knew? Nobody.

So she lived her life to the fullest, savored every bite of food and every beam of sunshine. That’s what sex became—maybe what it was supposed to be all along—a casual, pleasurable activity. The only thing that Maggie would complain about was the utter lack of privacy.

She saw the necessity of course. To know where everyone was at all times helped keep them safe. If there was trouble then they knew exactly what direction to run in to gather the others and get the hell away.

Still, it was a little difficult to appreciate the benefits of the system when she and Glenn had been interrupted mid-coitus at least six times before the irritation began to outweigh the annoyance and she stopped counting.

And it wasn’t like the openness about everything (and she meant everything) wasn’t a two way street after all, but she really didn’t like to think about that because there were certain rules of etiquette.

It didn’t matter that one time she had walked in on Daryl and Rick (complete accident, swear to god, she was only looking for a quiet place to read for a while). It didn’t matter that what she had seen would forever be imprinted upon her memory and not because it was ugly or wrong, but because it had been…beautiful in a way.

Daryl—unsociable, rude, permanently scowling Daryl—had Rick backed up against a wall, only he didn’t seem to mind one bit—Rick, who Maggie had begun to suspect had a single default expression and that was _grim_ —arms wrapped loosely around Daryl’s shoulders, head tilted back exposing the line of his neck, looking as relaxed as Maggie had ever seen him.

Rick let out a quiet sigh as Daryl mouthed at his jaw (and dear Lord, who knew _Daryl_ was capable of making a rough chuckle sound sensual enough to shiver down Maggie’s spine and she was ten feet away) and his arms shifted, drawing Daryl closer to him.

It occurred to Maggie right about then that she should remove herself from this situation immediately—Rick’s eyes were closed and Daryl was clearly occupied, otherwise she would have been spotted the second she rounded the corner—but then, hmm…

Daryl’s arm was moving in a distinctly familiar motion between them and Maggie didn’t need to see the gritty details to know what was happening. The expression on Rick’s face though, the sheer bliss, was so disconcerting that she could only stare and wonder distantly and somewhat horrifyingly if Daryl was making that expression too.

“Too rough,” Rick muttered, and Maggie jumped like she’d been shot.

“You like it,” Daryl rasped, and that was when Maggie decided that a strategic retreat was absolutely necessary, right now, please and thank you.

She took a step back and the sole of her shoe scraped against the floor. Shit. Really? That was how she was going to be discovered, fleeing the scene like a guilty school girl? _Shitshitshit_.

It wasn’t like Daryl was innocent of this particular breach of etiquette either—having walked in on her and Glenn and, while Glenn shriveled under his too amused gaze, only raised an eyebrow at them and remarked that he took back what he said about Glenn having balls before walking back out.

So. Maggie refused to feel guilty about Rick’s eyes flying open and the near…yelp—not in any way, shape, or form a shriek—he let out as he shoved Daryl away from him. And she didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty (this was easier to repress as it didn’t actually exist) about Daryl’s furious blush either.

“‘Scuse me, boys.” She nodded regally, like a damn _queen_ , before calmly turning on her heel and striding away, head held high. Maggie wasn’t embarrassed, nope, not her.

She got two steps before she heard the violent eruption of cursing signaling that Daryl was not Best Pleased with this and Rick’s soothing voice  running like a steady baseline underneath. She got another five steps before she began to giggle and couldn’t stop, shaking with the force of her laughter.

Maggie wouldn’t tell Glenn about her little side adventure today. She thought maybe she should keep this one to herself for a while, if only to see the look on Daryl’s face if nothing else. And maybe, later, she would see if she could get Glenn to look like that for her, the way Rick had looked for Daryl when they were alone.

Open. Defenseless. _Wrecked._

Maggie touched her tongue to her lip and grinned. Oh yes, she liked that idea quite a lot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’VE COME BEARING PROMTS! If you could write some Rickyl Smut where Daryl tops and is super possessive?:* And also, some fluffy Christmas morning cuddles would be cool. I’d probably marry you if you wrote either of these<333

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for chapter: Unusual amounts of fluff

They don’t count the days anymore, not really. Andrea was the only person who ever did it with any degree of accuracy and after Amy…well, after Amy she didn’t much care about what day it was or anything else for that matter.

It wasn’t a major loss, not one of the many things everyone missed about the world before. It was simply not important. Nobody gave a shit whether it was June 5th or June 25th or July 15th. Months and dates didn’t matter so much as seasons and the period the sun was visible in the sky which determined what work needed to be done and how long they had to do it.

Therefore Rick was caught completely off guard when one morning he woke, his front chilled and his back almost uncomfortably warm, to Daryl pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck and murmuring in a voice that sounded entirely too aware, “Merry Christmas.”

“Wha–?” Rick yawned, shifting in Daryl’s loose hold, that phrase—familiar and yet alien at the same time—slowly making its way past the muddled fuzzy haze of his sleep shrouded mind until it finally sank in, dropping into the pit of his stomach like a lead weight.

Rick had managed a complete turn in the time it took him to process that unusual morning greeting which meant that Daryl now had the pleasure of watching the full effect of his words ripple across Rick’s face—confusion chiefly, followed by realization, a subtle sadness that meant he was thinking of the past, and then back to confusion.

Daryl kissed him again because he wanted to, because he liked it, and partly to feel the way Rick smiled against his lips. His lover tended to be mellower in the mornings, malleable and soft, sweet even. 

Mornings were for gentle unhurried touching and whispered endearments. Winter mornings were the perfect time for lazy fucking, moving slow and firm against each other while their breaths fogged the air and they warmed from the inside out.

Daryl pulled back, not far, just so that their lips no longer touched but the same air passed between them still. Rick gazed at him fondly and Daryl caught himself smiling, just a little but of course Rick would notice and only smile wider at him in return, but couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“Is it really?” Rick asked softly and the question broke against Daryl’s mouth in a small puff of air like the lightest of butterfly touches.

“Who knows?” Daryl’s hand crept under Rick’s shirt to trace absent patterns over his back. Rick shivered, a whole body shiver and it wasn’t from the cold, right down to where his legs tangled with Daryl’s.

“What was that about then?” Rick didn’t seem too concerned though, inching a bit closer to Daryl and making a quiet sound of approval at the tingling warmth that spread between them where bare skin touched.

“Close enough.”

Rick translated that roughly to mean that Daryl didn’t know what day it was, if it was even December or a particularly cold November or a bitter February, but had decided that ultimately they were close enough to suit his purposes whatever they may be.

“Mm.” Rick hummed as Daryl stroked a line down his spine, clever fingers locating and following the groove his vertebrae made down to the small of his back where it vanished seamlessly into the curve of his ass. Daryl cupped a handful of flesh and squeezed. “Any particular reason why?”

“No. Not really.” Daryl said, ducking his chin and inadvertently bumping their foreheads together. 

“Ah.” 

Daryl could have laughed. That one sound, that single syllable, was Rick all over. Uncomprehending but acknowledging and still (as always) accepting. 

Instead he only smiled, just a tad brighter, and leaned forward to snag another kiss.

(Daryl had loved Christmas morning as a kid. He loved mornings with Rick now. He saw no reason why the two could not be combined.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cough* Rick is Daryl’s present *cough*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You still taking prompts? :) could you write a Rickyl one where Daryl becomes ‘the cool dad’ in Carl’s (and everyone else’s tbh) eyes and Rick just can’t be jealous cause he finds it so fucking cute?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for chapter: None really

Rick doesn’t even notice the sly glances at first. He’s oblivious to the raised hands and the quiet snickers and if he feels anything about it at all then it’s only a bit of gratitude that his people canstill laugh after everything they’ve been through.

It’s Daryl who makes him aware of the changing situation, coming up to him one day, and saying seriously, with a very un-Daryl-like anxious air, “We need to talk.”

Rick quirks his brows at him in silent question (they rise even further at Daryl’s slight headshake and minute gesture to the door), but follows willingly enough to a more secluded location where Daryl immediately begins pacing.

“What’s the problem?”

Daryl glances in quick succession from Rick to the end of the otherwise empty hallway and back to Rick who is beginning to edge over that fine line from curious to concerned. Daryl looks a hell of a lot more worried now than Rick’s ever seen him in the middle of a crisis. If he had to pick a word out of a lineup, he’d probably go so far as to say Daryl looked _paranoid._

Which was, after all the time he’d known Daryl—not a huge amount overall in the scope of his life, but it felt like a damn eternity—highly worrisome and more than a little suspicious.

“I think the group knows somethin’.” Daryl says at last though he never pauses wearing a path back and forth.

Rick waits. It’s always been easier for Daryl to talk when left uninterrupted until he had finished saying his piece and judging by the way his hands are clenching and unclenching as if he’d very much like to be holding his crossbow, he’s not done yet.

“Carl’s in on it. I dunno what. You?”

Rick shakes his head, glancing to the side and thinking hard. The glances, the laughter—he hadn’t been paying much attention, but could it be…? He looks back up and catches Daryl’s eye, giving him a decisive nod.

“No, but I’ll look into it,” Rick says and Daryl looks a little relieved, a little less tense than he had been a second before. Rick claps him reassuringly on the shoulder, a nonverbal thanks for bringing whatever it is that he’s brought to Rick’s attention before it spirals into something nasty.

After that discussion Rick begins to watch very carefully. It doesn’t take him more than three days to see what should’ve been staring him in the face all along, what Daryl saw first but doesn’t understand.

Rick does though. The split-second comprehension of it—of what the group would know, but he and Daryl wouldn’t—hits him one day while he’s eating and he half-inhales a wad of chewed granola, nearly choking himself into unconsciousness while laughing so hard that he feels tears start to run down his face. Luckily no one sees and his dignity remains mostly intact.

He watches Carl stare at Daryl with stars in his eyes and a faint smile that means nothing but trouble. He watches Daryl capitulate, acting disgruntled but secretly pleased, and promise Rick’s son future lessons in tracking. He watches the way Maggie and Glenn and Beth and Carol and even Hershel (that traitor) look at Daryl and Carl and he knows what they find so humorous about it.

Rick doesn’t know exactly when it started, but Carl’s been treating Daryl for a while now like a favorite uncle—the one who always brings cool presents and tells wild stories and the one to constantly sneak a kid a little extra dessert when mom and dad aren’t looking with a sly wink and a finger pressed to his lips indicating mutual silence on the matter—and the group sees that.

Rick might have been envious if it had been anybody but Daryl (because that was _his_ kid, _his_ son, damn it, and he loved the boy more than anything in this whole wretched world), but Daryl is special, is _his_ too, but in a far different way and Rick can’t bring himself to mind the closeness Carl seems determined to foster between the two of them for that reason alone if nothing else.

He doesn’t feel the slightest bit of jealously because of that, but also because watching Daryl fumble around blind, not having a clue what he’s doing, but doing everything _right_ anyway and only increasing Carl’s pull on him much to Daryl’s bemusement, is unbearably endearing.

It’s just so _fucking cute_ that Rick can hardly stand it. He covers his mouth with his hand and coughs to hide an escaping chuckle.

The sound draws Daryl’s attention from where he’s been attempting to gently pat Carl’s back and at the same time pry him off his lower body. Daryl shoots him a wide-eyed look that is a few degrees shy of full on panic.

Rick only settles himself against the wall to get a better view, tilts his head back, and laughs and laughs and laughs. He’ll tell Daryl tomorrow what’s been going on. Maybe.


End file.
